James Gurney

This daily weblog by Dinotopia creator James Gurney is for illustrators, plein-air painters, sketchers, comic artists, animators, art students, and writers. You'll find practical studio tips, insights into the making of the Dinotopia books, and first-hand reports from art schools and museums.

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or by email:gurneyjourney (at) gmail.comSorry, I can't give personal art advice or portfolio reviews. If you can, it's best to ask art questions in the blog comments.

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All images and text are copyright 2015 James Gurney and/or their respective owners. Dinotopia is a registered trademark of James Gurney. For use of text or images in traditional print media or for any commercial licensing rights, please email me for permission.

However, you can quote images or text without asking permission on your educational or non-commercial blog, website, or Facebook page as long as you give me credit and provide a link back. Students and teachers can also quote images or text for their non-commercial school activity. It's also OK to do an artistic copy of my paintings as a study exercise without asking permission.

I’m grateful to Margarita Korol of the news and culture website Jewcy.com for picking “Color and Light” as one of the top ten art books of 2010.

“It is college. From James Gurney, whose Imaginative Realism fed the hungry brains of fantasy artists internationally, this new book is recession-friendly real world wisdom and poised to become a classic guidebook for the century. If you’ve felt like a failed artist all year, starting twenty eleven well-trained will get you on the right track.”

Have a look at the photo of the dinosaur Bix on the right in the photo below. The colors are split down the middle, with a cyan cast on the left half and a yellowish cast on the right.

Now stare for 20 seconds at the little “+” on the line between the color fields on the left. (Click on the whole image to make it bigger.)

When you look back at the "+" on the nose of Bix, the color distortions disappear and Bix looks normal, at least for a while.

This is a demonstration of chromatic adaptation, our visual system’s “white balance” control. Whenever the illumination changes in color temperature around us, the sensitivity of our color receptors changes in relative proportion, resulting in a balanced impression of color.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

One of the requirements of a backdrop for a museum diorama is that it creates an illusion of real space. If it makes you think of paint on a wall, it’s not working.

To really succeed, you have to paint a scene without any individual style. Some people call it “painting actuality.” It’s carefully composed, but composed to be artless, that is, it doesn’t make you conscious of the means it took to produce it. (Above, bighorn sheep diorama in New York, with background by James Perry Wilson correction: Belmore Brown.)

Carl Akeley, who helped develop the art of the diorama to its highest level at the American Museum of Natural History in New York, put it this way:

"The landscape painter who has cultivated a style or manner is not any good…the painted background must display a complete unity with the mounted animals. The painter must make the beholder forget that he is looking at paint, and feel that he is looking at nature itself. The artist must forget himself in his work. We must set the standard to which others will have to rise."

William R. Leigh, one of the backdrop painters for the AMNH said painting backdrops "calls for the utmost measure of truth; there is in it no place for individuality."

Leigh did brilliant studies in Africa (above) as preparation for his diorama paintings. But great as he was as a painter, some of his backdrops were criticized for their distracting style. Trained in Germany in the Dusseldorf tradition, he had a hard time getting rid of the very theatrical lighting, brushwork, and unnatural colors that served him well as an easel painter. The backdrop below is by W.R. Leigh.

The person who fit into the role perfectly was James Perry Wilson, who I’ve mentioned a few times before in other contexts. Wilson came from a background in architectural illustration, and was largely self-taught. He first worked at the museum assisting Leigh, who was 20 years older. Wilson learned the craft, and then applied his own intellect to the unique challenges of the art form.

Wilson (above) was a slow painter and a bit aloof in his personality. The detailed story of what he went through to navigate the museum politics is told in the latest chapter of Wilson’s life by online biography.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

When James Bama was a six years old, he went to see the classic Universal monster movies: Wolfman, Frankenstein and Dracula. “They were seriously done and beautifully crafted,” Bama said. He was so scared afterward that he had to sleep in his mother’s bed.

When he later became a professional illustrator, he got the the assignment to illustrate the plastic model box covers. He used movie stills as reference for Frankenstein, the Wolfman, and Dracula.

But parents complained that the actual plastic models didn’t live up to the painted covers. So starting with the Mummy, he worked instead from reference photos of the completed models. Despite the truth in advertising, the painting based on the actual model might not be quite as successful at presenting the fantasy.

In all, Bama did 23 model covers, contributing to the Baby Boomer’s monster craze of the 1960s.
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Images from:Monster Kid
Full story and large color reproductions in: James Bama, American Realist, published by Flesk Publications.

“ Any single book on this subject can only be an introduction, but what an introduction this is! The book is very generously illustrated with his own works, plus those of many of his favourite past masters. These images fully justify their place by showing us what it is possible to achieve, especially from the imagination, by those who are willing to go beyond a simplistic approach to ‘colour theory.’

“...I'm quite certain that Color and Light will mark the beginning of the end for the simplistic approach to color that still predominates in art teaching. If you are an art or design student, get this book, study it, and then pester your teachers ceaselessly until THEY study it.”

Thursday, December 23, 2010

The art-book review blog Parka Blogs is asking readers to comment on their favorite art books of 2010.
I’m excited to know that Color and Light is in the running with splendid books like The Art of How to Train Your Dragon, Framed Ink, and Cover Run by Adam Hughes. On Parka Blogs, there are also reviews and video flip-throughs of most of these books.

Monday, December 20, 2010

When Cicely Mary Barker (1895-1973) moved into a Victorian house in south London, she had a studio built out back in the garden. Meanwhile her sister ran a kindergarten in one of the rooms of the house.

The kindergarten provided a steady supply of child models for Barker’s Flower Fairy characters. The children wore costumes that were stored in a trunk in the studio. Barker made the fairy wings from twigs and gauze, taking the elements apart after each picture to be recycled into future costumes.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

In a 1956 article in American Artist, Harry Anderson described how he used an uncommon practice in gouache painting.

He said he used “two different colors on a single bristle brush in painting objects whose color might run from light to dark—as on a cylinder. First I load the brush with the lighter hue and then with a section of the brush I pick up the darker paint so that, when the stroke is made, very interesting accidentals result.”

“This works very well on small objects,” Anderson says. You can see Anderson’s blended-stroke method in the rendering of the bookcase, where each book’s spine was made with a minimum of strokes.

These enlarged details are from the painting “The Widow,” which appears as a double-page spread on page 10-11 of Color and Light: A Guide for the Realist Painter.
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Quotes from: “Harry Anderson Discusses his Painting in Tempera,” American Artist, May, 1956. (“Gouache,” “tempera,” and “opaque watercolor” are all roughly the same thing.)Color and Light on Amazon internationally: USA | CA | UK | FR | DE | JPColor and Light signed (and doodled in) by me, from the Dinotopia Store

Thursday, December 16, 2010

When an object is lit by direct sunlight, the texture is not equally prominent throughout the form. The texture in the shadow should not just be a darker version of the texture in the light, because that’s not how the eye sees it.

This concrete moon-face is a good example. The texture is very difficult to see at all in the shadow region. It’s also not terribly prominent in the fully lit areas of lighter halftone, such as the forehead and the left hand edge of the form.

What you tend to see in those light halftones are variations in local color--in other words, freckles rather than pores.

The place where you really see the texture is in the darker halftone, just before the terminator divides the light side from the shadow side. In this moon man it appears in the cheeks, the tip of the nose, the lower lip, and the chin. This region is sometimes called the halflight, an area of raking light where any bumps in the surface stand out dramatically.
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This example amplifies the discussion on page 46 of the Color and Light: A Guide for the Realist Painter.
Previous GJ Posts: Texture in the Halflight and Light and Form (The Form Principle)Color and Light on Amazon internationally: USA | CA | UK | FR | DE | JPColor and Light signed (and doodled in) by me, from the Dinotopia Store

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Here are some wise words from the landscape painter Birge Harrison, about 100 years ago.

But what is fearlessness in painting? Is it the same as courage? It is the opposite of timidity? What fears must each of us overcome? The fear of starting, of finishing, of failing, of not selling?

One thing I tell myself is that I can’t get hurt if I try something bold or different. So what if it doesn’t work out? I won’t sprain a finger. I might just wreck a piece of paper.

Fearlessness comes to mind when I’m working in pen and ink or watercolor. These two media require absolute commitment, or conviction as Harrison might call it. I also think about fearlessness when I’m embarking on a composition, to urge myself to avoid playing it safe--to push things to extremes. Maybe fearlessness is really another word for letting loose that wild impulse, the artistic imp. We all have it, and it has to be let out of the cage more often, especially if the judicious, analytic part of us is the one usually holding the pencil. But fearlessness isn’t the same as recklessness. Both chaos and control must be at work together.
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The excerpt is from Landscape Painting by Birge Harrison, 1910, available as a free PDF on Google Books.
Drawing by J.C. Coll. More about Coll at BPIB.

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Perspective doesn’t apply just to architecture. Everything follows its laws, including people and animals. Some perspective teachers suggest drawing a box around an animal, and that’s a good idea.

An even simpler idea is to draw a set of lines across the form of any animal or person. It’s a quick way check the placement of all the features. If they’re out of position, you’ll know right away.

In these zoo sketches of a hippo, each head has a set of parallel lines to make sure the ears, eyes, and nostrils are kept in their proper relationship. In the top sketch, I’ve also lightly drawn the center line of the form. I tried to simplify the lighting by massing the shadow as a light, uniform tone.

In the lower sketch, I simplified the forms a bit (note the spherical forms around the eyes). The shading lines follow the cross-section contours, which helps even more to describe the form.

Monday, December 13, 2010

What is it like to raise kids in an artist’s studio? I’ll share our experience, then I’d love to hear yours.

We’ve always had the studio as part of the home, which meant having our kids coming and going while I’ve been painting. Whenever I really needed to concentrate, I had to learn how to say, “I’m sorry, I can’t answer you right now,” rather than just acting grumpy.

We didn’t child-proof the studio, yet somehow our kids never got into trouble with the sharp tools, ink bottles, and oil paint. They had their own art supplies that they could use.

To give them something to do during the long painting hours, we had a huge tray of Legos in the middle of the floor. I felt lucky to have my kids around when they were growing up.

But sometimes, when clients called, I had a hard time making my studio sound like a serious place--I remember once I was on the phone with a paleontologist who stopped to ask about the squeak toy that he heard in the background.

I don’t think my kids regarded a dad who draws dinosaurs as anything special. One time my son had a friend over. I heard the friend say in a stage whisper, “Does your dad have a job?”

No, my son replied. “He just stays home and draws dinosaurs all day.”

I’d be interested in your experience, either as an artist-parent or as a person who grew up around art.

The bus ride from downtown Florence to the airport takes twenty minutes.

Across from me, a mother tenderly holds her four-month-old baby girl. The baby rests on her mother’s shoulder. The little girl lifts her head from time to time, enjoying the feeling of balancing as the bus moves.

A man stands on the bus, looking out a window. His eyes scan the traffic. He glances at the people around him and smiles at the baby. He has taken a long journey inside his skin and bones since his mother held him on her shoulder.

Friday, December 10, 2010

That’s one of the philosophical questions posed by the Underbelly Project, where graffiti artists collaborated to decorate an inaccessible subway platform hidden beneath New York City.

Getting there involved crossing over hot third rails and risking arrest. The organizers have kept the location a secret. After the artists finished their work, they closed it off again, and at the moment no one from the general public can get back down there.

Luckily the artists took some photos, so we can see the art from the comfort of our computers.

The notion of inaccessible art isn’t new. Many of the painted caves of Lascaux and Altamira were never easy to get to. Some of the Taino carvings I’ve seen in caves in Puerto Rico involve an underground traverse over a mile and swimming across underground lakes. And many ancient cultures with a belief in the eyes of spirits have created elaborate painted tombs, sealed off to the living.
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Previously: Camuy Cave Exploration.
Read and see more about the Underbelly Project at the following links:Second Avenue SagasStreet Spot BlogNew York Times
Thanks, Frank.

Thursday, December 9, 2010

I’m not usually able to answer art-related questions that are emailed to me offline—there just isn’t time. But once in a while, I can tell someone has really been grappling with a challenge. He or she has read the books and blog material, and they still have some interesting questions that others might relate to.

So here are the questions of Jacob Cook, a high school student, along with my answers. And I’ll bet you get more answers and resources in the comments.

1. I know from your books and your blog that you make use of photographic reference in your large-scale paintings that involve humans - for example, this type of painting: "Warrior Woman." But of course, that's not the whole story - to make a painting like that requires that you place the figures in an invented space, and do it convincingly. How do you approach that task? How do you give your figures a sense of weight and dimensionality within a scene?

The key to making multi-figure scenes is to practice drawing compositions from imagination and observation, so that when you need to create a large-scale painting, you can take it pretty far entirely out of your head. After you’ve done that, you can call in the models and use photography if you want. (“Warrior Woman” was done from life studies but no photography.) Either way, let your imaginative idea guide the process.

Getting weight in figures comes from thinking about the force of gravity when you do your figure drawing. Take the pose yourself, and you’ll know things you miss when just looking at it. Dimensionality comes from a solid understanding of perspective, form modeling, and optics.

2. How much anatomical knowledge do you possess? Do you have what could be called a working knowledge of the body, or have you learned about the body at a deeper level, like the names of the bones and muscles? I ask because I'm getting to be very interested in the technical details of the human body. I've been filling sketchbooks with studies of the skeleto-muscular system, and I even bought a life-sized model skeleton to study from. I'm wondering how much of that sort of thing you've done.

I’m not really an expert on anatomy compared to some of my friends. But when I was a student I went through the standard figure texts: especially Bridgman, Peck, Vanderpoel, and Loomis. I copied a lot of the plates and learning the names of the major bones and muscles. Doing copies is a good path to understanding. The next level is to sculpt a figure from the skeleton outward, muscle by muscle. Some of the academies, such as Grand Central Academy, offer such training, and that way the knowledge really gets into your hands.

I was like you as an art student. I bought a miniature plastic skeleton, a real human skull, and a bunch of plaster casts. I also recommend purchasing a couple good ecorché figures and placing them near you in your studio when you’re puzzled over something.

3. If you're making a quick sketch of a human figure, which elements do you make sure to draw first? Which parts of the figure are essential in conveying the action of the pose? Is it the head and spine? The ribcage and pelvis? Some combination, or something I haven't thought of? Is this even the right question to be asking?

Yes, it’s definitely the right question, but I don’t think there’s a hard and fast answer to any these questions, and I don’t follow any single system, because sometimes I try to think like an animator, sometimes like a painter, and sometimes like a caricaturist. Different schools of the figure will give you different approaches, and I think you should learn them all.

Some schools concentrate on the movements of the spine and skeletal frame, others look for rhythmic gesture lines running through the whole pose, others look for contours which sweep inside the form and pick up other contours. A painter who thinks primarily tonally will look for movement and linking of tonal shapes first and foremost. If there’s a general principle, it’s to start with the big and the simple, and progress toward the smaller details.

4. In the People chapter of Imaginative Realism, you show examples of preliminary life drawings next to the finished product. But they're never exactly the same; some limb is in a different place, or the head is turned a different way. What does it take to do that with confidence? Knowledge of anatomy? Prior experience drawing such poses?
The figure studies in that chapter are works in progress--that’s why they’re not overly finished. They’re like a rough draft. You can’t get married to any idea at that stage. Often when it comes to placing a figure into the final composition, there will be a problem with how the figure overlaps with another element in the scene. Sometimes you might simplify the drapery or you might exaggerate the pose a bit more. Everything gets changed and revised all the way to the finish. Drawing the figure as a means to an end rather than an end in itself is incredibly liberating. It gives a drive and a purpose to figure drawing that guides all of your choices.

The rapid-fire commentary explains the geometric logic while bemoaning the cluelessness of most contemporary math teaching. The pace of the presentation proves how fast we can digest new information if visuals and words are paired.

In the art of penmanship, the ultimate showcase of skill is called offhand flourishing. This combination of drawing and calligraphy was a natural outgrowth of decorations in pointed pen lettering. It was created at one shot without much in the way of preliminary drawing, which is where we get the figurative sense of the word “offhand.”

It may not look like anything more than squiggly doodles to the uninitiated, but pictures made from flourishes are incredible difficult. It takes deep practice, good breathing, perfect posture, and a clear mind.

Here’s how master penman W.E. Dennis, in his 1914 book Studies in Pen Art, describes the challenge:

“It is doubtful if anything in penwork requires more real skill, sureness of stroke, delicacy of touch and absolute freedom of arm and hand than Off-hand Flourishing. Certainly none of the other work in this book offers the technical difficulties found in the flourished designs, the most difficult of all being the two swans facing each other. Lettering is more or less mechanical, but flourishing is quite the opposite. In this work the mind must conceive quickly the arrangement of harmonious, well-balanced curves, and the hand must reproduce them without hesitation. In addition to this, the penman should have in mind some harmonious design, pleasing in effect as a whole.”

By the way, I’ve been filling all your mailed-in orders, and I just want to compliment all of you wives who are giving the book as a gift to your husbands—and vice-versa. That’s really nice of you!

If you mailed in an order and are wondering when it will come, I’ve been turning them around within 24 hours after receiving them. Today I mailed out orders that were postmarked between November 30-Dec.3 and received yesterday.

Monday, December 6, 2010

In specular reflection, light rays bounce off the surface of an object at the same relative angle that they approached it. In diffuse reflection, light rays bounce off in many directions.

For example, under normal conditions a rooftop has a matte surface which reflects the light diffusely. The rooftops in the painting on the left show diffuse reflection on a dry, sunny day. The sketch on the right shows slate rooftops after a rainstorm. The thin surface of water remaining on the rooftops now reflects the light more specularly.

“Speculum” is Latin for mirror; the rooftops in the second sketch do act more like a mirror, revealing reflections of the dark chimneys.

Many surfaces are a combination of specular and diffuse reflections. When you polish a shoe or an apple, what you’re doing is increasing the relative proportion of specular versus diffuse reflection.

Saturday, December 4, 2010

Some artists of advanced age might feel that they’re too old to really make a mark in their field. The business belongs to the young, they might think.

Consider the career of Norman Mingo (1896-1980), Mad Magazine’s most celebrated cover artist. A veteran of the World War One, he painted his first Mad cover in 1956 at age 60.

And what a cover! It was the definitive portrait of the cheerful simpleton Alfred E. Neuman. Every Mad artist thereafter has been required to match Mingo’s version, and they agree: no one can top it. The painting sold at auction two years ago for more than 200,000 dollars.

Friday, December 3, 2010

Note how the letter shapes of “SELLES sur CHER” alter as the thin blue material shrinks.

Starting with the small peninsula-shapes, it delaminates and curls back. There’s a faint line remaining at the original boundaries of the letters. It would be fun to design a type face using this idea.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

Someone spilled paint on a stool in an art school in San Jose, California.

The blob of paint ended up looking like a shrunken head. Student David Gustlin (now a faculty member) looked at that shrunken head shape and sketched the guy that he imagined it belonged to.

A myth was born.

The art students at San Jose State University knew they had the perfect mascot for their campus organization. They called it the Shrunkenheadman Club.

The Shrunkenheadman Club was formed in 1995 to to create a sense of community among students in animation and illustration. The club arranges for figure drawing sessions, visiting lecturers, and an annual costumed draw-off known as “D-Day.”

They sponsored me to give my Color and Light lecture a few weeks ago in October. That’s me and my buddy John Fleskes standing out in front of the school.

The students at SJSU ordered 65 copies of Color and Light, which I signed for them today and put in the mail. To make the books extra special, I made a custom rubber stamp using the club mascot. The stamp is made from craft foam glued to a wood block, and then stamped using a rainbow-colored pigment stamp pad.

If another art school, game company, or movie studio would like to put together an order for 40 or more books, I’ll be glad to come up with something equally customized.
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